


Mirror Mirror

by mikaylaesthetic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A lot of shit goes down, Eating Disorders, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sherlock is confused, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikaylaesthetic/pseuds/mikaylaesthetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had seemed innocent at the time. A few smaller meals here and there. Tea or water in place of other, more solid things. Anyone to notice would just think it was a normal diet. Except 'Normal Diets' didn't involve skipping out on whole meals when he was alone. 'Normal Diets' didn't involve running for hours every morning and night, every day.<br/>John Watson was not on a 'Normal Diet.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seedlings

**Author's Note:**

> *****TRIGGER WARNING***** This fanfiction contains unspecified eating disorders. If you have/have had an eating disorder or know someone who does or has, this is just a warning. We know that this is a very sensitive topic, so make sure that you can read this type of material without triggering a relapse or a worsening in your disorder. If you or someone you know is suffering from an eating disorder, feel free to call 1-800-248-3285 toll free.
> 
> Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,  
> Please just make me thin and tall,  
> Doesn't matter if I don't eat,  
> I don't care if I don't sleep,  
> Oh, Mirror, Mirror, on my wall,  
> I want just this over all.

             It had seemed innocent at the time. A few smaller meals here and there. Tea or water in place of other, more _solid_ things.

Anyone to notice would just think it was a normal diet.  
Except 'Normal Diets' didn't involve skipping out on whole meals when he was alone.  
'Normal Diets' didn't involve running 4 hours every morning and night, every day.  
John Watson was not on a 'Normal Diet.'  
            No one noticed of course, he was a doctor for gods sake, he knew how to hide these things.  
Besides, if anyone had they would either shrug it off or deny it entirely. So this was kept up. For months.  
Pounds were dropping faster than he had expected and this delighted him to immeasurable extents.  
            Yet when he looked in the mirror all he could see was fat.  
 _Fat fat fat fat fat._ That's all he was.

He had no idea what caused him to bend over the toilet that night and put two fingers down his throat, dispelling what little he had ingested before.  
Afterwards he felt lighter and happier, and frankly, much better. This continued for a while. Running and vomiting and starving and it hurt,oh god yes it hurt, but even yet John felt alive. Alive and beautiful and _thin._

He really should have known better.

It was a wonder he had kept it hidden from Sherlock for so long.  
The way his jumpers hung off of his thin frame, and his skin was translucent. The bags under his eyes grew darker no matter how much sleep he'd get.  
Honestly he was surprised Sherlock hadn't found out before.

And that leaves him here.

            "Dinner?" Sherlock said, brushing off his coat.  
 _Oh fuck. Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck. Just politely decline_. "S-sure." _Dammit John!_

Sherlock eyed him carefully. "Italian or Chinese?"

"Either's fine." He forced an uneasy smile, hoping that in his post-case high Sherlock would believe it. _As if. He solved a cold case after half a bottle of wine._

"Angelo's?" Sherlock asked, acting as oblivious as possible.

"Yeah, why not."

Sherlock turned to hail a cab, and John let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding.

* * *

  
            Sherlock hadn't eaten at  all that day, and tried to scarf down his food as politely as possible while John would take small bites whenever Sherlock looked at him.

But other than that he would just push the rest around on his plate to make it seem as if he'd eaten more than he really had.

"John."

John looked up at him, grateful for the distraction from his plate. "Yes?"

"Eat."

"..I am."

"No you aren't. I'm not an idiot, John."

 "That's debatable, love."

"John, I am serious, eat." Sherlock said, much louder than the whisper he'd intended it to be.

"Quiet down Sherlock, please!" John glanced around at the other people in the restaurant along with them.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice? How could you do this to me?"  
John was taken aback "How could I do this to _you_?" He almost laughed "I'm sorry, I had no idea I was causing _you_ such _pain_." He threw down his utensils and stormed from the diner.

"Joh- Wait!" he raced out after him. He caught the man just as he called a cab.

"John, I-I did not intend that the way that I said it."

"Don't."

The cab pulled up just as Sherlock opened his mouth to say something.  
"Don't try to understand this, you obviously can't."

Normally the words would have stung, but the way John's voice cracked at the end made Sherlock want to scoop the other man up in his arms and shield him from the rest of the world.

"John. I know that these kinds of things are not my area of expertise, but I am trying to understand. Tell me why, that's all I want to know."

 

John sighed. Sherlock obviously wouldn't take no for an answer.  _As if he ever has_.  
"Sherlock, can we please just discuss this later?" He gestured towards the cab with tired, resigned eyes.

 

Sherlock was silent as he tore his eyes away from John’s and climbed into the cab. The only words he muttered the entire ride were the address to the cabbie. He stole a few glances over at John, but all he was doing was staring out the window, thinking about whatever it is that he was going to say once they reached the flat. Once, they had, Sherlock jumped out of the cab and went to unlock Baker Streets common door, hands fumbling with the key as he did so.

 

John handed the cabbie a wad of notes and slowly made the trek up to their flat.

He reached the landing, pushed open the door and found Sherlock pacing around the sitting room. He looked almost as restless as John felt.

 

John closed the door, leaning heavily against it. He sighed, pushed off the door, and went to his chair, collapsing in it. He looked up to Sherlock with blue eyes that had grown tired and wore bags from lack of sleep, lack of nourishment and stress underneath.

"Well?"


	2. Sprouting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is trying. Sherlock worries.

Sherlock was roused from his sleep when the body next to him stopped its rhythmic movements. He was about to fall back into sleep when common sense caught up with him. He shot up with lighting speed and shook John's body.

"Wake up John. John! John wake up please." John opened his eyes and stared at Sherlock. He still wasn't breathing. Then John shrank. He disappeared under the covers. Sherlock panicked, throwing sheets and pillows everywhere. "John? John!"

"I'm here, Sherlock." Sherlock was shocked back to reality. His face was covered in tears.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Sherlock said, trying to play it off as if he hadn't known what just happened.

"It was about me, wasn't it." John said, flatly.

"What?"

 "Sherlock, you only 'cry' when you're getting information from someone for a case. The only other time I saw you cry for real was when I got stabbed during a chase that one time"   
  
Sherlock was quiet. He looked at John and whispered "John you were dead. You weren't breathing and then you were gone and I couldn't find you and-" He was cut off by an involuntary shuddering breath. His cheeks were wet again- when had that happened?

John felt a pang of guilt. Ever since their argument the previous week Sherlock had been having trouble sleeping, but never nightmares this bad.

He reached up and wiped Sherlock's tears. 

"That won't happen, love, you know that."

John pressed a quick kiss to the detective's forehead and rose to get them some tea, and Sherlock some sleeping pills. He returned to the bedroom with two steaming mugs and handed Sherlock the pills. He pulled a disgusted face.

"John you know i hate the taste of these..things." He waved a dismissive hand towards the white tablets.

"You don't even taste them, you just swallow." Sherlock shook his head like an indignant child. John sighed. "Here just-" He dropped the pills into Sherlock's mug and watched them dissolve.

"You wont even taste them." Sherlock took an apprehensive sip and found that John was correct. His lips curled into a barely contained smile as an idea took root in his mind.

* * *

John and Sherlock entered the flat, laughter still in their eyes as John went to make tea. Sherlock froze when he realized what the other was about to do, and how it could potentially ruin his plans.

“John wait no!” Sherlock ran into the kitchen and steered John away from the kettle and to the sitting room.

“Sherlock, wha-“ He was cut off by an unexpected kiss, open mouthed and wet and John melted in it, words forgotten. Sherlock broke away, partly for air and also to tell John his excuse for his odd behavior.

“I wanted to make you tea because you always do it and I just thought I could help more.” John looked at him cautiously.

“Are you feeling alright love?”

“John, please.” John smiled at him and placed a chaste kiss on his nose before going to their bedroom to change into his pajamas. Sherlock quickly set to work, quickly boiling water and separating it into two mugs. He took a small bottle from his pocket. Protein supplements. He’d stolen them from a medicine cabinet in the morgue earlier. He dropped two brown tablets in and stirred until they were completely dissolved. He finished the tea making process just as john padded down the stairs, clad in soft cotton bedclothes. He gladly took the mug from Sherlock and took a long drink, grateful for it’s warmth after running around London’s cold streets. The night quickly ebbed away to lying on the couch while some ridiculous program on TV blathered on in the background, long forgotten. The two were sharing soft kisses which were quickly becoming more than soft. Things were getting heated and suddenly they were both wearing far too much clothing. As they fixed that problem, Sherlock thought that maybe slipping drugs into John’s beverages wasn’t so bad after all.


	3. Buds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> re • lapse  
> noun  
> ˈrēˌlaps/  
> 1.  
> a deterioration in someone's state of health after a temporary improvement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we arrive at this chapter.

       He’d been doing so well. Mentally, he had marked every day that he ate at least one meal (without purging of course). In total, 3 days last week and he was up to 4 this one.  He honestly had no idea what had happened. Of course, he knew from the beginning that this would happen. He would be doing okay and then something would come along and knock him down to a level even lower than before.

It had started when he found the pills, shoved haphazardly in the back of a cabinet, most likely thrown there when Sherlock had received a sudden text from Lestrade. Protein supplements.

It all fell into place then.

Sherlock’s odd insistence to make his tea, and why said tea had a faint chalky taste. At first he’d been angry, but it was soon replaced with a wave of affection for the detective. He confronted him about it later, making him promise not to do it again. He folded surprisingly easily, not without a trace of dread in his eyes. The next morning he had woken with the taller man latched onto him so tightly he began to ponder the possibility of him possessing some sort of anaconda powers.

John shook himself of the abrupt flashback. He was back in that situation he was in just a month ago. Another new case finished, and usual, Sherlock was famished afterwards. He once again suggested a restaurant, and John dubiously agreed. _You can do this ok? You've been doing really well. Don't give up. Don't disappoint Sherlock._ It was the last thought that had really motivated him.  

The meal was delivered and John braced himself. _This is it. At least try._ He took a few sips of water and watched Sherlock eating his food before deciding that it couldn’t be put off any longer. He prodded the meal with his fork, finally getting up the nerve to actually put some on the utensil. He took a deep breath and raised the fork to his mouth. He hesitated before popping it into his mouth, chewed for a bit and swallowed. He found it both hard and easy to eat at a believable pace. The food was delicious, and he was hungry, but he also felt as if he was betraying himself. All his hard work all those months and he does this. But he wanted to be good enough for Sherlock, he wanted to be better than 'good enough'. He finished his plate moments after Sherlock. Immediately after, he felt the heaviest guilt he had for a while.

“Excuse me, yeah?” Without waiting for a reply he got up and raced to the restrooms.

_You let off so many pounds, John. Why couldn't you keep it up? You can't ever finish anything that you start, can you?_

Once in a stall, he broke down. He kept a hand clamped tight over his mouth as he sobbed so that he wouldn't make a sound. His head roared with all the accusations and insults his subconscious could muster. The tears flowed freely now, and he slipped off of the toilet seat, onto the tiled floor. He kneeled in front of the toilet, lifting the lid and staring into its clear water The meal was still heavy on his mind as well as his stomach as he bent over the seat. He closed his eyes as he prepared to repeat what he'd done so much all those months ago.

* * *

       Sherlock glanced at the clock on the wall once more. John had been in the loo for a long while. Too long to be simply doing his business. He rose from his seat and moved to the restroom. As soon as he had softly closed the door behind him, he realized exactly what had been taking John so long. The air stank of bile and acid. There was muffled crying coming from the last stall. _Oh god, John._

Sherlock’s mind went into over drive, tearing itself to pieces deducing everything. For the first time in his life he wished not to have such intelligence. John would not appreciate being ‘coddled’ as he calls it right now. Sherlock simply calls it common sense. If he were to stay and worry over him, it would make him guilty. He turned on his heels and rushed back to his seat, trying to hide anything on his face that said 'I know what you just did.'

John returned to the table on wobbly legs and offered his best ‘I’m-fine-how-about-you’ smile.  Sherlock returned an equally fake smile and stood.

“Ready?” He gestured towards the door.

“Yeah.” John answered, and if It was a little breathless, Sherlock pretended not to notice.

* * *

_You have got to stop doing this_. Sherlock thought to himself as he sat on the sofa, staring at his blogger who was seated in his own chair. _Stop keeping things secret._

"They have a new column in here this week." Sherlock said, motioning towards the paper he was 'reading'.

"Yeah?" John said, obviously not interested.

"It's written by this woman who suffered from, uh," Sherlock pretended to check his paper for the name,

"Bulimia. I think that's that purging thing."

"Oh?" John said, trying to act casual. The hitch in his voice was subtle, but it was definitely there.

"It shows the diseases and cancers you can get from doing that." Sherlock cleared his throat a bit too loudly.

"Hm." John tried and failed to sound casual Sherlock looked back at the paper in his hands. He closed it with a swish of paper and took a breath.

"I know." Sherlock muttered.

"No, really?" John said, trying to keep some of his humor.

Sherlock let out a breath. His eyes widened as his brain slowly put together a puzzle he hadn't known he was doing. John is a _doctor_. He knows what he is doing to his body and the consequences of it but he still continues on. The same breath was sucked back in when Sherlock was snapped out of his thoughts by the other man abruptly clearing his throat and raising from his seat.

"So, uh, I think I'm going to head to bed, yeah?" Sherlock only hummed in response, but remained seated on the couch.

"I'll be there when I’m done thinking.”

John rolled his eyes and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before padding up to their bedroom. Sherlock steepled his hands underneath his chin and proceeded to do just that. _Why was John so unconcerned about this?_

He poured through facts in his head, trying to remember anything that could possibly pertain to why John could be acting in this way. Of course, he knew John was acting. He just couldn't place _why_.

John knows Sherlock is aware of it, why try to play it off like this? Sherlock was startled from his trance by an odd noise coming from the bedroom upstairs that sounded suspiciously John-esqe. He stood up and slowly ascended the stairs, trying not to startle John as he probably would've if he had just bursted in.

He stopped to listen through the door. Shaky breaths followed muffled cries, followed not so muffled sobs. _Oh god, John is crying._ Sherlock’s mind was overwhelmed with a sense of protectiveness. How could he have let John, _his John_ , do this to himself?

He dubiously tapped on the door. “John? Are you alright?”

_No, obviously not._

On the other side of the door John gasped. A long silence stretched between them. The detective was about to turn the knob when an angry crying John flung the door open. The shorter man was pointedly not looking at Sherlock, and chose instead to study the floorboards underneath him. When he spoke it was so soft Sherlock almost believed he imagined it.

“Go away Sherlock.”

_Definitely not._

Sherlock’s eyes hardened. John is … essential. To leave him at a time like this would be unthinkable.

“No.”

The blonde’s head snapped up.

“No?”

“No.”

John blew a shaky breath, covering his face with his hand. From underneath it, he mumbled two words, and Sherlock’s world froze.

“I’m sorry.”

It exploded in Sherlock’s mind, a dazzling lightshow of things that should have been obvious before . Why John had been trying to hide his habit besides the fact that the other man already knew, why he asked him to stop the supplements, and even his own nightmares. The words he’d yelled when he had first confronted John echoed through his mind.

_How could you do this to me?_

He stared ahead in shock at this new revelation. Sherlock scanned over John's face, the curve of his lip, the eyes that were brimming with emotion, or lack thereof. Suddenly, it was all too much for the detective to handle. He felt the sting behind his eye that signaled yes, you're going to cry. He whirled around, raced down the stairs and seized his violin.

For the rest of the night all that could be heard from the flat were the painful wails of the strings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaand thats chapter 3! Sorry for the long wait, Real Life happened :/ We're really trying to put some effort into the plot next chapter so stay tuned!  
> As always, grievances/commentary/criticism is welcomed and encouraged. Thanks for reading! ^_^


	4. Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “History dressed up in the glow of love’s kiss turned grief into beauty.”  
> ― Aberjhani, The River of Winged Dreams

       Sherlock paced around the empty sitting room, disgusting now as it was devoid of John. He was away at the therapy clinic that Mycroft had insisted on. Of course his brother would have been spying on them. When he'd suggested the idea of sending John to therapy, Sherlock begrudgingly accepted, telling himself that it was for his bloggers welfare, even if his brother had to tell him to do so.

But that didn't matter now. John should have been home 18 minutes and 23 seconds ago. 24. 25. His paranoid counting was interrupted when he heard the soft creak of the door downstairs opening. Sherlock was up and throwing the door open before John was more than 3 steps up.  
He opened his mouth to say something, but before the words could form, John shot him a Look.  
The shorter man wore an expression that was a heart wrenching mixture of anger, sadness, pain, and something he couldn't quite place. He quickly scanned him over, deducing everything.  
 _Therapist is new, brought up troubling childhood memories. Leg and shoulder are stiff, will be limping if he doesn't leave leg rested._

This was unacceptable.

"You're 18 minutes and 25 seconds late, John."

He raised his eyebrows "You counted?"

Sherlock looked at him as if he just asked what 2 plus 2 is. "Did anything happen on the way home?"

"No, just traffic was hell, that's all."  
A wave of cool, sweet relief washed over the detective. He tried not to look too reassured, for John would feel guilty.

"Sounds like fun." Sherlock deadpanned.

John half-smiled and sighed, "Oh, the most."

The blogger walked past him and into the flat, flopping down onto the sofa with a sigh.

"Tired?" Sherlock attempted to mask his concern.

"You have no idea." Sherlock tensed. Does that mean something other than that he's tired?  
John must have known what he had been thinking, because he quickly added,

"With work and everything."

Sherlock hummed, nonplussed. He walked over and sat down beside a laying John, who only took up three-fourths of the couch at the most. The blogger promptly moved his head so that it was resting in Sherlock’s lap.  
Sherlock ran his fingers through John's blond hair.

"I love you, you know." John somewhat mumbled into Sherlock's lap.

"What's that?" Sherlock said, not sure he'd heard right.

"I love you, you arse." He smiled into his hip. They dissolved into a fit of giggling.

"I love you, too." Sherlock whispered after the laughing had ceased. John’s eyes were closed, blonde eyelashes twitching to and fro on his pajama bottoms. His breathing hitched a bit and suddenly, his mind was thrown back to that night at the restaurant. Memories of muffled crying and acid stench clouded his mind.  
Sherlock frowned at the mop of blonde hair, (much too thin) and pondered asking him how long he'd been like this. The man in question shifted a bit in his drowsy state, and Sherlock's perceived non-existent heart melted. He gently wrapped his arms around him, moving him up. After a bit of pulling and pushing, they were situated so that Sherlock lay on his back while John sprawled atop him, head pillowed by the other's chest.  
________________________________________  
       Sherlock rose from his seat that he had certainly _not_ fallen asleep on. They had been so preoccupied with filing statements at the Yard, by the time Sherlock had finished it was nearly midnight. John was asleep on his statement. Sherlock had promptly dragged them both home, babbling about ways the murderer could’ve done better and the stepfather had a pornography addiction which his wife knew about but didn't say anything due to the fact that she shared said addiction.  
The detective shook himself of sleepy recollections.

All he needed was to not fall asleep again, even though he had _obviously_ not already done so.  
John was in a similar state, curled on the couch, facing its back. He considered of waking the doctor -that position could not be good for his shoulder- however the thought of stirring him from his peaceful and admittedly adorable trance was painful.  
He pondered the last few days, still watching the blonde's back rise and fall. The man had been fairly content the whole week, eating two meals almost every day, 3 on one.

Ultimately choosing comfort over aesthetics, Sherlock wakes the man currently trying to become one with the couch. He stirs slightly, pressing further into the sofa. He gently shakes his shoulder, trying to pry him from the clutches of the furniture. Eventually John opens his eyes, letting out a soft sigh.

“Good morning.”

“It’s 4am.”

“Still morning” He says with a shrug.

“Come on, to bed.”

He stares at the younger man, as if contemplating something. The corner of his mouth twitches upward for a second.

“Can we wait a bit? I’m hungry.”

Sherlock smiles, a genuine smile.

Because John is happy and adorable and hungry.

And, just once, that little discomfort,  
is his favorite moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, sorry! Finals happened and yeah, sorry it took so long to update. However we'll probably churn out something else we've been brainstorming since chapter 2, but no promises ;) All feedback is welcome (and encouraged!)  
> Thanks for sticking with the story!  
> Signing off,  
> \-- Joy

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this was written by two very tired teenagers over the span of several weeks, we apologize for any spelling/grammatical errors we might have missed. As always, comments/criticism is welcome and encouraged Enjoy! ^-^
> 
> P.S Extra thank you to rude_booty for correcting my mistakes and bleh writing <3  
> P.S.S Thanks to WriterOfAllTheFics for inspiring me and putting up with my insufferableness. :3


End file.
